


a single flame flickering (i'd burn out to keep you warm)

by earlgrey_milktea



Series: as long as you stand by me (ffxv works) [12]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Light Angst, M/M, MT! Prompto, Poor Prompto, Promptis Week, Snapshots, prompto-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 19:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12115203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgrey_milktea/pseuds/earlgrey_milktea
Summary: prompto is lost. all he knows is snow, endless, bone-chilling snow.he needs to keep going. he needs to find noctis.it's so terribly cold.[a remix ofthe little match girland an alternate version of episode prompto.]





	a single flame flickering (i'd burn out to keep you warm)

**Author's Note:**

> **fairy tales**
> 
>  
> 
> this fic could be read as an alternate telling of episode prompto, and does draw on many elements from the dlc. this fic is also inspired by that one text post/theory about how ep prom might have all occurred in prompto's head, courtesy of our resident creepy fedora man.  
> but read it how you will. pls feel free to share your thoughts after; i haven't edited this quite yet so i apologize if there is any confusion or mistake.
> 
> this is a (very cold) retelling/remix of _the little match girl_ by our favourite sad fairy tale writer, hans christian andersen.

It’s cold. 

You’ve been walking for hours, stumbling through the snow, taking small shallow breaths. This single-layer snow jacket you filched from the Keep before you were thrown out isn’t nearly enough to last you through this weather. 

You passed by the last houses a while ago. They were tiny beacons of light in this endless nothing. You want nothing more to head inside where it’s warm. But you can’t. You’re not allowed that luxury. Not until you’ve completed your mission.

Your mission.

Kill the Prince of Lucis.

The man with the smile that sends chills down your spine said that was your entire purpose. You wonder why that struck you as wrong. You wonder why something in your chest twinges painfully when the face of your target surfaces in your mind. But the man with the smile that never reaches his dark, dark eyes promised you that you could rest after you complete your mission. So maybe if you eliminate this prince, you can be warm again.

But first. Maybe. No one has to know. If you take a break. Just a quick one. 

MTs don’t sleep. But they need time to recharge, right? 

You don’t know. You don’t remember anything but your mission. 

It’s so cold.

 

 

 

 

(There was a house, somewhere far away and tucked in a corner somewhere. There was a woman and a man and a timid blond child, sitting around the dinner table. 

They were kind, the woman and the man. They were patient when he froze up at certain words, when he flinched at certain gestures. They gave him his own room, presented him with a plush bird toy which, when he later found the nerve to ask, was called a chocobo. 

They were warm.

“Prompto,” they called him. “Prompto Argentum. Sweetheart. Son.”

He’d never had a name before. Let alone so many nice-sounding ones. He learned to look in their eyes and hold their gazes. He learned to understand that it was okay to accept nice things, that he was allowed to have nice things. He learned to ask for things he wanted. 

He learned what it meant to feel warm.

There was a house, and once upon a time, Prompto called it home.)

 

 

 

 

Everywhere you turn, there is white. 

You can’t hear anything but howling winds, muting the world around you. You’re not sure there is a world anymore. You’ve lost count how many seconds turn minutes turn hours turn days? All you know is that your heart is still beating, your breaths still coming, no matter how slow and shuddering. Where your skin is exposed to the harsh air stings red, and your feet ache from marching through the snow.

You’re freezing. 

Maybe you’re dying. 

You don’t know. All you know is that you have to keep going forwards. You have to complete your mission. MT units don’t complain about the cold. MT units obey orders. And your orders are to go forwards and... and find someone. Yes. Find someone. Someone important. An enemy, probably. Or a friend? A commanding officer? 

There’s no time to waste figuring out the details. Just worry about putting one foot in front of the other.

You trip over something—snow, your own feet, it doesn’t matter. All you know is that the snow is cold against your face, and you’re so, so tired. You should climb to your feet and press onwards again. And you will. But... later. Later. For now, you’ll just take a short little break. Just enough to find the strength to get back up again. Just a little...

 

 

 

 

(There was a boy, a skittering thing with a heart almost too big for him to handle. He talked a lot, but never had anyone to talk to. His parents were willing to listen, but too often called away by work. He didn’t blame them. He just missed them terribly.

There was a boy prince, always surrounded by curious classmates yet always striving to be alone. 

Prompto didn’t really understand why someone would want to hide from people who wanted to spend time with them, but maybe the prince was a quiet person. Prompto could understand that.

So Prompto, armed with a camera and wavering confidence, attempted to befriend the quiet boy prince. It didn’t work out the way he hoped, but that’s alright. Prompto would try again.)

 

 

 

 

How long have you been out here? You don’t know. You don’t know anything but white, blank and empty white.

You can’t feel your fingers. Or your nose. Or anything, really. Can MTs feel anything?

What are you doing out here again?

Mission. Yes, you have a mission to complete. 

Your mission is... 

Your mission is...?

It’s so cold.

 

 

 

 

(There was an apartment, upside the town, just a couple minutes’ ride from the Citadel. On the twelfth floor, facing the east, there was an apartment where two boys tended to stay up past midnight playing video games.

Prompto liked the couch in Noctis’ living room. It’s black, like most things Lucian royalty own. It’s not super big or super soft or anything, but it’s comfortable. He liked that he could sleep soundly like he almost never did in an empty house alone.

Prompto liked falling asleep on the couch in Noctis’ living room, with Noctis by his side. His friend liked to sleep, and he liked to press up against the nearest thing when he slept. Prompto liked being that thing.

Noctis was comfortable. Noctis was familiar.

Noctis was warm.)

 

 

 

 

You find an overhang amidst the sea of white. It offers barely any respite from the harsh chill, but you collapse behind it with relief.

If you can only make fire. Anything to warm you up a bit. 

Or maybe. Maybe you can just rest here. No one will miss you. Is there anything waiting at the end of this? You’re all alone. Are you even still alive? 

A sudden gust of icy wind steals the hat right off your head. Your hair is a mess, blowing into your eyes and obscuring the world around you. At this point, you’re not even sure there is a world out there anymore. Maybe it’s just you left in this whole universe. Maybe you should just give up before you even begin.

Begin... what? 

You can’t remember what you’re doing out here. You can’t remember your name. If you had a name. Who are you?

There is nothing.

You close your eyes. Slowly, you sink against the freezing rock. Snow clings to your cheeks. They don’t even bother melting.

It’s cold. So, so cold.

 

 

 

 

(There was a car, a used one but still regal in its own right. There were four friends, each with their own quirks and attitudes and undeniable contribution to the group. They were loud and messy and squabbled a lot, but at the end of the day, by the light of the campfire, they were together. 

They were warm.

Prompto had never seen stars like the ones out here. His camera quickly filled with photographs of breathtaking sunsets, sparkling sea, awe-inspiring mountains. And pictures of his friends, of Gladio lifting all of their camping gear in one arm, of Ignis expertly scattering salt and spices into a pan, of Noctis fishing by the lake and wearing a peaceful smile. His family.

There was a boy with a camera and a heart as big as his grin was bright. He stood next to his prince, his very best friend, his most precious person in the whole wide world, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He was warm.)

 

 

 

 

You can’t feel anything, anymore. 

The sound of your heartbeat in your ears is so slow. When you manage to wrench open your eyes, you see white. Snow is still falling, and your eyes trail the small specks as they rush down to meet you. It’s pretty, in an almost haunting way. Your fingers twitch, just the slightest bit, with the urge to click a shutter. You can’t remember why.

Dimly, distantly, there’s a whir of something. A machine, an engine. A faint yell somewhere above you. You don’t register it. All you know is the snow falling. And the cold. 

Slowly, almost lazily, your eyes begin to close.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(There was a blue-ish, furry, long-eared creature, and it trailed after a boy with hair as dark as midnight.

“I’m Noct,” the boy said. He tilted his head and blinked. “Are you lost?”

“Yes,” you replied. “I think so.”

“What do you mean you think so?” Noct frowned, and then shrugged. He looked down at the creature sitting patiently beside him. “This is Carbuncle,” he told you.

“Hi,” you said. “I don’t know who I am.”

Noct and Carbuncle both blinked at you. 

You watched as Carbuncle neared you and nudged you gently with its nose.

“Carbuncle said it can lead us home,” Noct said. “Want to come with?”

You didn’t know where ‘home’ was. You didn’t think you cared all that much.

“Okay,” you said.

Noct held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

You didn’t hesitate.

His hand was warm.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you come to, you are lying down. There is a roof over your head, and you squint at it for several seconds, making out metal railings and dark tile. It looks familiar, but not in a good way, you don’t think.

“He’s awake,” someone says to your left.

And then there are faces entering your vision, worried frowns and concerned gazes. You blink up at them, bewildered and disoriented. Where are you? Who are they? Is this real?

“Give him some space,” a calm voice cuts through. Then, “How are you feeling, Prompto?”

Prompto. A name. 

Yours?

“Prompto,” the first voice says. 

You shift your gaze sideways, and meet midnight blue eyes. They send a jolt of familiarity through your chest, but it doesn’t make you sick, unlike the grey, cold ceilings. You realize you can feel your limbs again.

“Prompto,” the boy says again, and you focus on him. He reaches out, and carefully, so gently it almost looks like it hurt, he brushes fingers across your cheek. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m sorry we took so long.”

You don’t understand. You think Prompto means you, maybe. You think he’s a friend, maybe. You think you’re alive, somehow, even though you can’t remember where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing. There’s a fleeting memory of blinding white, of terrifying blank, of withering cold. And then it’s gone.

Your vision starts to blur. Reaching up with trembling fingers, you hold onto the gentle hand of the boy with the midnight eyes. He squeezes back.

Warmth spreads through you, and stays.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> for some reason, the little match girl has left a very deep impression in me, and whenever i think about fairy tales, it's the first one that comes to mind.. this is a very broad and loose retelling of that tale, but i can't help thinking about prompto all alone in that cold, empty hell, and gods. he doesn't deserve any of this. none of them do, jeez square why can't you let them (and me) live,,
> 
> @puddingcatbae on tumblr + twitter


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